


leftovers

by eenimeeniminimo



Series: ghostbur drabbles [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Death, DreamSMP - Freeform, Family, Ghost Wilbur - Freeform, acceptance?, l'manberg, this is gonna hurt y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27637133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eenimeeniminimo/pseuds/eenimeeniminimo
Summary: wilbur is very confused these dayshe doesn't understand what's going on, why his family is acting so weird, why is feels like there's a gap in his memoryand however hard he tries he never seems to be able to grasp the truth(ghost wilbur au)
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: ghostbur drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029960
Comments: 11
Kudos: 191





	leftovers

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the manberg v pogtopia war
> 
> if any of the creators express discomfort with a story of this kind it will be taken down right away!

a lot of things confuse wilbur these days. perhaps it's old age or simply the time changing, but a lot seems to not make sense anymore.

for one, and probably the largest, his body is no longer corpreal. and THAT was weird to get used to. he has no idea why or how it happened but one day he woke up and his hand swiped through the grass like it wasnt there and his feet didn't make a dent in the earth when he walked.

wilbur had tried asking phil and tommy about it but whenever he did their gazes went dark dark with deep sadness so he let it go, even though curiosity gnawed at his soul.

some days wilbur just vanished. the world went white and all he could feel is a deep warmth that made him feel as if he was being huddled in a big heated blanket. and while he always awoke something in him tugged, screamed and clawed- begging at him to return to the warm state.

wilbur was very cold these days.

But despite everything wilbur could not give in to the white. he had to be there for his father and his brother. he could see the bags under their eyes growing so clearly they needed someone to remind them to sleep and eat - even if whenever he did it only ever seemed to make them more weary. 

whenever he would return from the faded white he would find his younger brother and father in tears and when they saw him, deep in their eyes, he could see a twinge of guilt swirling within the mix of relief.

a lot of things confused wilbur these days.

to say his father and brother acted weirdly would be an understatement. 

it was like they were hiding something, always shifting and changing the subject whenever wilbur tried to ask a question about the current state of their residence.

"why is there a massive crater in the dreamsmp ?"

"where's schlatt? what is he doing?"

and some days when it got really bad, the white confusion clouding his gaze, "what is l'manberg"

many questions went unanswered and wilbur eventually stopped asking, content with the warm sun, the soft chirping of birds and the gentle hugging breeze (even if the sun's rays could barely dent the cold in his soul, the birds song seemed fuzzy and distant and the breeze felt like nothing more then a feather light touch)

even stranger, to wilbur, was the reaction of technoblade. it was like his brother didn't see him at all, his gaze always looking slightly beyond where wilbur sat. 

even when wilbur would try to speak techno would barely stir, only even shivering slightly - as if a cold breeze was running past. 

and while wilbur knew techno could hold grudges like the best of them he knew it wasn't in his brothers nature to act in this way. he was more a man of direct action then passive anger.

but wilbur never pushed it. he didn't want to see the creeping sadness in tommy and phil's eyes when he asked, nor did he want to upset his techno further by going over the line.

(he never saw the furrowed brow his brother sent in his direction, when he spotted the ghosts shadow on the floor nor did he here the loud arguments, belted from tired voices, "wilbur is gone! he's gone. you have to let him go. this isn't healthy")

and when the seasons slowly shifted, and time slowly creeped on he could see the weariness in his brother and fathers eyes. rather relief in their eyes, when he approached he could instead only see trepidation and bone set tiredness.

and slowly, they began to respond to him less and less. even though he begged and screamed and cried until his voice and eyes were raw they rarely uttered a word, biting their lips and looking into the sky until it was almost like they didn't hear him anymore.

these days, wilbur was very confused. 

he enjoyed watching these 3 men go about their days but he could not tell you why. for some reason he was drawn to them and interested only in watching them go about their days. a passive viewer into their lives.

who were they? what were they doing? why them? those were questions wilbur couldn't tell you.

wilbur knew not why he was there nor why he was watching them, but it filled him with simple pleasure to watch them go about their business and succeed.

some days, when the inspiration struck, wilbur would pick up an old guitar and strum gently to a tune he only vaguely knew. other days he would sit, next to a strangely familiar gravestone and watch the clouds in the sky gently float along.

he was very confused these days.

he couldn't tell you who he was, or why he was here. all he knew was that he was a shadow of something. he didn't know what that something was but knew that every day that it was slowly waning, leaving less and less behind. 

sometimes his stone would be visited. the people that came were always nice. they told long stories that filled he enjoyed the sound of. they were nice. they left him small flowers and trinkets.

it was a day like any other when wilbur felt a final strong tug away from his distorted reality and safe stone and into a warm bright white. it was so comfortable and safe and his slow addled brain couldn't figure out why he'd fought it for so long.

he was so tired, and confused and cold...

closing his eyes he finally could finally accept the offer the light was granting and finally, finally his weary mind could rest.  
.

.

.

_"wilbur, you've finally made it! welcome home"_

**Author's Note:**

> ghost wilbur canonically has amnesia. isn't that interesting?


End file.
